


Step

by Tish



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Coping, Friendship, Gen, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7156808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish





	Step

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calliatra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliatra/gifts).



“They say the first step is often the hardest.” Cpl. Darnelle laughed despite himself. “Yeah I'll be hopping around on my one damn foot and try and take that first step, doc. I'll fall over, then pick myself up again. Probably fall over again.” He laughed again, soft and throaty.

Hawkeye smiled warmly down at him, crinkles appearing in the skin by his eyes. He gave a small nod. “You'll have people supporting you, the best rehab and care. You got good spirit.”

“I'm gonna miss running. I was good at getting medals and trophies, y'know?” The corporal patted his chest proudly. “Good times, but you don't expect to dodge a curve ball in track. Mortar shells are one hell of a curve ball.”

“I've heard of a few clubs, guys in your boat who hold races.”

Darnelle closed one eye and a note of scepticism crept into his voice. “Yeah? Long distance running in prosthetics? How about long jump?”

Hawkeye shrugged. “Ah. Not sure about that. I bet I can chase up some more information.”

“How 'bout a 3 legged race? Or hopscotch!” A sly grin covered Darnelle's face and he laughed. “I have the worst luck. I even lost my wallet.”

 

Margaret watched from across the room as Hawkeye completed his rounds. He carefully wrote something on a clipboard and scanned the room one last time. 

All was well as it could be and he breathed a deep sigh as he walked over to the desk.“It's amazing how quickly events can turn. A wrong move seals your doom, a right move leads to safety.” 

Margaret tapped the pencil on the desk thoughtfully. “Or you get to safety by paying a toll.”

“That kid was a track and field star in school. He's tough, though.”

“He's lost a leg. It could be bravado covering up the fear,” Margaret cautioned.

“Yeah, maybe some of that,” Hawkeye conceded. “At least he'll get the help he needs in Tokyo.”

 

Margaret's shift was filled with paperwork, punctuated by thoughts on the injuries of the young men under he care. Shock, despair, even optimism enveloped the boys as they lay in their cots, boredom and their thoughts their only company for most of the day. She checked her watch, time for a round.

The first patient was sleeping, so she only gave a quick scan of his chart. The second greeted her with a smile and an offer to see the photo he'd received from his girlfriend. Margaret listened as Cpl. Wyatt chatted about life back home, and what he hoped for the future. He paused, then whispered, “Buddy next door seems to be real down, can you do anything for him?”

Margaret glanced over at his neighbour, who quickly blinked away some tears. She gave a small pat on Wyatt's shoulder and made her way to the next set of cots.

“Hello, Private Walton. Can I get you anything?” Margaret sat between the beds and looked through his charts.

The boy twitched his nose slightly and shook his head.

“Maybe you'd like to talk with someone? A priest? Your friend seems a little worried about you.” Margaret tilted her head back slightly as she watched the young man.

“Friend? I don't know him? Anyway, I- I'm just tired.” He closed his eyes and settled into the blanket.

“Okay. Get some rest before dinner.” Margaret made a careful note before turning to the peacefully sleeping soldier in the next cot. “You too,” she whispered.

She spent a few minutes with each of the other patients, listening and giving them some precious human contact. As she sat next to Darnelle, he turned to her with a perplexed frown. “Nurse? This is the strangest thing.”

“What's wrong, Corporal?” Margaret asked.

“My foot itches,” Darnelle pointed down the bed. In a voice like he was telling a ghost story, he added, “the one that isn't there...”

“Oh,” Margaret paused, thinking of what to do. “Really?”

“Could you maybe scratch just where it should be, please?” Darnelle was almost bashful in his request.

“Where it should be, okay,” Margaret repeated. “Where?”

“The ankle, inside,” Darnelle gestured in the general direction.

Margaret went over and scratched the blanket, smiling as Darnelle sighed in relief.

“Thanks, ma'am. That was beginning to drive me to a serious distraction!”

“How odd. I must remember that,” Margaret mused.

 

Whatever peace the unit was enjoying was shattered by a wave of incoming injured. The meatball surgeries rolled on into the night and left more stitched up young men and exhausted medical staff in its wake.

Hawkeye sat contemplating nothing in particular as he watched a moth bat against the light. Margaret joined him on the bench, absent-mindedly tugging at her jacket as she settled back.

“Post-op is full, and the overflow are settled into tents. We haven't had it this bad for a while.” Margaret closed her eyes for a moment to settle her thoughts.

Hawkeye slowly stretched out his long limbs and muttered, “Mmm, I feel like I've been taken apart and stitched back all wrong. Like pieces of me are missing.”

“Strange you should say that. Darnelle was complaining of an itch on his missing leg earlier.” Margaret suppressed a shiver.

Hawkeye stifled a yawn.“That's called phantom limb syndrome. There's not much real information on what it is, though, or how to treat it.”

Margaret pondered this for a moment. “Maybe it's like when a broken heart heals, it remembers what's now absent. Forgets what is gone is actually gone for good, or wasn't actually there in the first place.”

Hawkeye waited a few moments before speaking, his voice gentle. “I take it you're ready to finalise the divorce?”

Margaret looked over sharply, before her expression softened. “Ready and willing. Life's too short for regrets.”

“I regret not rolling myself in a blanket pancake this morning and never getting up,” Hawkeye dead-panned.

“Sleep. It's past midnight.” Margaret's voice was thick with fatigued laughter as she pressed her hands to her brow.

“I will if you will,” Hawkeye yawned.

Margaret straightened up. “I mean it. Go to bed.”

“You first.”

“On the count of three, we'll both get up, stop watching that damn moth and go get some sleep,” Margaret's voice was stern.

“One. Two. Three!” Hawkeye flipped his long legs up and made his aching body rise.

“That's the spirit.” Margaret encouraged as she got up.

Hawkeye took a step. “They say the first step is often the hardest.”

Margaret nodded her agreement as she watched Hawkeye shuffle back the The Swamp.

 

Walking through post-op again, Margaret paused and nodded a greeting to Nurse Baker. Some beds had been rearranged and she watched Walton and Darnelle speak together in hushed tones. Darnelle reached out a soothing hand to Walton's arm and the younger man reached over to clasp it, a small smile beginning to light up his face.

Margaret set one foot in front of the other and set off to her tent. She was ragged and tired, her thoughts filled with compassion for the wounded and all the steps they would have to take to get back to some sense of normality.

She placed one foot in front of the other, one in front of the other.


End file.
